Sunday – 8:27 A.M. | Ava's Rooftop
The city was quieter on Sundays — no drone crashes, no glitches, no theories.
Just wind.
Rick and Ava sat on the edge, knees pulled up, both sipping bad coffee. Neither had spoken much since yesterday.
It wasn't fear that filled the silence.
It was calculation.
Finally, Ava spoke.
"You know what freaks me out the most?"
"That you like instant coffee?" Rick replied.
She smirked, but shook her head.
"That someone out there knows our names, our faces, our habits. And we don't even know who they are. It's like... we're in someone's experiment."
Rick's fingers curled slightly around the coffee cup.
"Subjects."
He didn't mean it sarcastically. The word sounded like something familiar. Something buried.
Ava turned to him. "What if we are?"
10:42 A.M. | Carter University Library – Archives Floor
They dug into physical files today — no more networks or hacked data. Rick wanted to go analog. He didn't trust screens anymore.
Ava pulled dusty academic journals and records from a locked cabinet she'd bribed the grad assistant to open.
"Here's one," she said, flipping through it. "Cognitive Drift Studies. 2016."
Rick scanned the paper.
"Look at the funding: Hollow Bridge Initiative. That's not a public program."
Ava nodded.
"Private shadow firm. Very few traces."
Another folder revealed a name:
> "Project GLYPH."
"Harnessing Adaptive Neuroplasticity for Selective Subject Advancement."
Rick felt his stomach twist.
He pointed to the fine print.
> "Early-stage trials conducted at partnered institutions across six urban zones."
Carter University was one of them.
1:12 P.M. | Outside – Food Truck Park
They needed air. Ava crushed her fries with frustration.
"They used this place. Used students."
Rick stared ahead, blankly.
"They're probably still doing it."
Ava softened.
"Hey... you okay?"
He didn't respond at first. Then, finally:
"When I was a kid… I used to have these moments. Like time slowed down. I could feel people's emotions, intentions, like I could predict what came next. My mom said it was a gift. I thought it was grief."
Ava leaned closer.
"Rick—"
"What if it wasn't? What if someone gave it to me?"
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable — but it was real.
3:55 P.M. | Campus Gym– Basketball Court
Rick needed to think. Movement helped.
He practiced alone. Dribbling. Layups. Free throws. Rebounds.
Then… he froze.
At the edge of the court, a man stood — average height, clean-shaven, dark jacket. Watching.
Rick turned, narrowed his eyes.
"Can I help you?"
The man smiled faintly.
"Nice footwork. Fluid brain-motor sync. You're already compensating for micro-delays most people can't detect."
Rick stepped back.
"Do I know you?"
"Not yet. But we've been watching you, Subject 7."
The man tossed a business card.
Rick caught it.
No name. Just a black symbol: a hollow triangle with a single dot in the center.
"Tell Ava she's right. It's not a glitch. It's a test."
The man turned and left. No rush. No fear.
Rick stood there, heart pounding.
The triangle burned into his palm like a warning.
Final Scene– Ava's Apartment
He showed her the card.
She stared at it for a long time.
"They made contact."
"Yeah."
"That means they're not hiding anymore."
Rick looked out her window, mind racing.
"No... it means they've moved to the next phase. And they're watching what we do next."
Ava looked at him, voice low:
"Then we better make it interesting."